The three who barred the way looked like living heaps of rags. Their clothing was a many-layered patchwork of tatters, packed tight with moss and straw that bristled from every seam. From beneath the torn hoods, pulled low over their eyes, showed wind-bitten noses and cracked lips. The tallest gripped a knotted wooden cudgel. Over his “insulation” hung a scrap of thick woolen cloak, hole-riddled in places—plainly a trophy or some rare stroke of luck; on the left bank such things were not found on every back.

  — Hand over the bread! — the leader said in a commanding tone. — Or it’s going to hurt. Badly.

  Niko froze; his heart began to hammer, and his hands loosened of their own accord. With a dull thud the basket dropped into the slushy snow.

  Rize let go of hers and stepped forward. A low, warning growl tore from her throat—nothing like a human sound.

  — Begone! — she hissed, placing herself between the hooligans and the baskets.

  The petty bandits went numb with surprise. But gathering himself, the leader flicked up his stick and answered:

  — Well, well—a talking cat?! What, you catch rats in a tavern, do you?! Lads, there’s naught to fear!

  — Arerre! I’rr show you! — Rize shouted and lunged into the attack.

  The boy beside the leader rushed at her with his fists, but at once took claws across the face. He sobbed, swung wildly—wide—and took another blow; he cried out and dropped to his knees, blood running. The second bandit started to move in to help, but the leader was quicker: he struck Rize on the head; she did not even have time to growl before the next blow landed on her legs. The stick whistled through the cold air—the hooligan struck fast and true, aiming for places unprotected by clothing.

  Rize yelped and tried to catch him with a sweeping slash; he dodged, yet a thin thread of his blood spattered the snow.

  — Grab the food! — the leader barked, and his lackeys fell upon the baskets. They snatched up loaves, shoved them under their coats, beneath their arms, taking as much as they could carry.

  Niko tried to do something, but two more came at him from behind and, shoving him to the ground, began raking bread into sacks.

  Just then, from behind the far house, an adult’s rough voice rang out:

  — Hey! What’s going on there?!

  With what they had managed to take, the gang scattered, and the leader—casting Rize a smug glance—vanished around the corner. She, baring her teeth, sprang after him.

  Niko was left alone in the lane. Less than half the loaves remained in his basket; the rest lay in the snow, some crushed flat. In silence, hands trembling, he began to gather what had survived and stack it back, struggling not to weep.

  Rage drove Rize onward, drowning out pain. Snow clung in flakes to her muzzle, melted, and veiled her eyes. The cumbersome cloak, soaked through and heavy, pressed on her shoulders and tangled in her paws; as she ran she tore at the cloth with her teeth, trying to free herself, and at last flung the hateful burden onto the snow.

  Feeling the freedom, the cat quickened, catching the scent of bread on her nostrils. The first thief, sack in hand, was not far—she intercepted him at a turn and swiftly knocked him off his feet. Taking the sack in her teeth and overcoming the urge to kick him, she ran on.

  The second, by the sniffling, was a girl. Rize cut across and pinned her to the wall. Their eyes met, the thief's eyes were a strange golden color.

  — Get off! Get off me! — the girl shrieked, but when she saw the bared, snarling muzzle she fell silent, letting the bread drop. The pursuer loosened her grip, giving her a chance to flee, and, watching her go, tossed the bread into the sack. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a new target.

  The third was quicker, and even at a full sprint Rize could not catch him—though she did not lose him from sight. Turning into yet another alley, the little thief tossed boards aside from the ground and dove into an opening.

  Running up close, Rize saw a hole at the base of the wall. Without thinking long, she dropped the sack by the entrance and, drawing herself tight, squeezed inside. The space was narrow, damp. Her back slid along a low clay ceiling. Clods of mud fell onto the fur not covered by clothing, leaving a foul, unpleasant feel. At last the tunnel led her into a slightly more open place—part of the walls had collapsed, yet here and there brickwork and slabs still held in the floor and along the sides.

  Is this a store-room, like in the tavern? And where’s the food?

  Glancing about, Rize noticed movement in the far corner and darted that way. She ran down a passage, caught her quarry in a half-ruined hall, and, knocking her onto her back, sank claws into thick clothing.

  If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  — Aah! Take the sack—just don’t hit me! — the girl squeaked, covering her face with her hands and squinting against the light that fell through cracks in the ceiling.

  In that moment, dark silhouettes rose from different parts of the hall, hurriedly surrounding Rize. She sprang back with the sack in her grasp and stared at her opponents. The fur along her neck bristled, and a long growl rolled from her throat.

  — You’re a stubborn little beast, aren’t you, — came a familiar loud voice. The boy with the stick stepped into the light. With undisguised irritation he looked at the girl Rize had caught. — Idiot, Liya. You led her straight here!

  Liya only whimpered.

  — Let her go! — cried a dark-haired boy.

  — Why are you talking to it at all! — cut in the lad with cuts on his face, where blood still seeped. — Let’s finish it and be done with it!

  The swarthy girl beside him snorted.

  — Go on, then. Only you go first.

  Rize, keeping all of them in her sight at once, straightened.

  — Why d’you hurrt Niko? — she breathed.

  At once the girl crawled toward the dark-haired boy who had worried for her; he helped her up and put an arm around her.

  The leader smirked.

  — Niko? A weakling who won’t even speak a word against us? His trouble. He lives fat and warm in a tavern—he’ll survive.

  He stepped closer, studying Rize with a measuring look.

  — You’re from that tavern too, are you? “Spicy Boar.”

  — Rize!

  — Arden, — the boy answered, throwing back his hood and revealing fair hair clumped with dirt and sweat. — Quick you are, I’ll grant. For one who comes out of a warm eating-house.

  He fell silent, looking at her as if weighing her worth, then went on:

  — Are you a cellas? I’ve seen your kind. All of you cheat and steal.

  — I don’t derr that!

  — Then what do you do? Carry plates and scour pots? — Arden waved a hand toward his own. — We do as we please here, and no masters decide when we eat or sleep.

  His words struck something within her. Rize did not answer, suddenly realizing where she was: beyond the tavern’s bounds. For the first time in a long while—and truly she could do aught she wished. But… no one in the tavern held her there; they even cared for her, fed her.

  And Niko will catch it if I don’t come back…

  — Well? — Arden repeated, watching her lower her gaze. — If you want, you can join us.

  — What! — protested the boy with the cut.

  — Hold your tongue, Tamas, — the leader cut him off coldly. — She beat you, and you’ve no say over her.

  — There’s plenty of water here, — Rize broke the silence and turned away, picking up the sack. — Givvr me the food, or I’rr take it.

  Arden gave a short hmph.

  — The rules are simple: what we’ve got left is ours. What you took is yours.

  The cat wanted to flare, but knowing there was no time, she brushed it aside and ran back the way she had come in. Yet she halted halfway: without Niko and this far from the tavern, she had no notion where to go. Ears flattened, listening to the argument beginning behind her in the hall, the cat gathered what pride she had left, turned, and came back.

  The children—already dividing the spoils—grew wary again. Rize, striving to hold herself as Dwain had taught her—head held high and gaze straight—declared:

  — You may take the brrread, but onry if you rread me back to the tavern.

  At first there was silence; then a restrained chuckle passed over the thieves’ faces.

  — Truly lost, are you? — Arden asked with a sneer, shaking his head. — Fine. Farra, — he nodded to the swarthy girl, the one with golden eyes — see her out.

  The girl tore herself from a crust of bread with reluctance.

  — Come on, — she muttered as she passed by.

  Rize, gripping her sack hard in her teeth, threw one last look at the den and followed after.

  Soon enough they left the catacombs and climbed back into the streets. The guide led along narrow, empty paths, walking a step ahead, glancing back now and again as if checking whether Rize might pounce on her.

  — Why is your face so darrk? — Rize suddenly asked, no longer able to bear the silence.

  Farra flinched, then frowned.

  — And why do you have a tail and claws? — she shot back without turning.

  — I was brrn with ’em, — Rize snapped.

  — Well, so was I—with this face.

  They went a few more steps in strained quiet.

  — You’ve got prretty eyes… they’re aze, they shine…

  The girl grew embarrassed and turned away; the rest of the road was walked in silence.

  At last, ahead, the familiar sign came into view—a boar, a pepper, and an arrow.

  — From here you’ll find it, or do I walk you to the door? — Farra asked with deliberate roughness.

  Rize nodded, clenching the sack tighter in her teeth. She took a step, then looked back and, waving a free paw, tossed out carelessly:

  — Tirr we meet.

  Farra said nothing—only watched her until she went inside, then left in turn. The venture had not been so dreadful as it had seemed.